Enigmatic psychological murder mystery from Joseph Lewis, maybe the best B-picture director of the studio era. It's film noir because of Burnett Guffey artistic, shadowy photography but the story is more of a golden age whodunit. There are no mean streets. The final twist isn't original, but is executed with considerable élan.
Steven Geray plays a famous Parisian sleuth who is released to the country to recuperate- for as long as it takes. The diffident, middle aged detective falls in love with a young woman (Micheline Cheirel) already engaged. When she and the childhood sweetheart are found dead, the grieving holidaymaker investigates.
It's an intriguing puzzle, though not difficult to unravel. There is a slight impression of the story being stretched to fit feature length. The cast is little known. Geray is familiar from support roles in Columbia's major releases, and his lack of star charisma suits his role as the modest suitor who has never experienced love.
It's the director's imagination which most impresses. He exploits the evocative studio setting of a rural French village with some wonderful visual flourishes. And accumulates a powerful sense of fatalism as we drill down into the killer's fractured obsession. He creates the kind of living dreamworld which will one day be explored by David Lynch.